My best friend in high school, we will call him Dr. Knight, met a girl that lives in Reunion Island. That is a tiny french colony off the coast of Madigascar in the Indian Ocean.
He became very enthralled with her and he wanted to talk with her IRL, but alas, Skype had not been invented yet. So he came up with a plan.
Our job in high school was telemarketing. We worked at a pretty large firm that ONLY called long distance customers. That place racked up phone bills into the tens of thousands every month.
So he began to call his lady love every evening while we worked from the phone in our server room, hiding his identity, you know, doing big things.
At the same time, he signed up for a credit card and couldn't resist the prefix option, becoming a Discover card Doctor in one easy click.
A few months pass, we ruin about 300 college kids lives as we dish out high interest rate credit cards like they are hot cakes, pull in over $7 an hour, you know, move our Donald Trump $hit.
One day the owner of the company walks in and asks to talk with my friend. No biggie, we're the cream of the telemarketing crop.
After a short meeting, my friend walks with his head high out the office, and out the front door.
I later find out that they sat him down and asked him if he had ever heard of Reunion Island. He said it sounded like the name of an amusement park for old people. They said it cost $8.00 a minute to call Reunion Island, and someone owed them around $10,000.00 for calls made there.
He said he didn't know what they were talking about, stood up, walked out, never to be seen again.
A month later I got a call to our telemarketing firm looking for Dr. Knight. He apparently owed them some money. I told them he was in surgery.
Thanks Everquest.
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